Page 123 of Playing With Love

“Coffee’s brewing.”

“C’mere.”

“We’re gonna be late.”

“Don’t care. C’mere.”

“And if Lauren asks, you didn’t see me gag when I tried the mushroom dirt she gave me.”

That made me smile. She didn’t only gag, she’d spit it out in the sink.

“Pretty sure it’s called mushroom tea, not mushroom dirt, and I’m not lying to Ren.”

Liza’s eyes went round. She pushed to her knees, plopped down on my chest, and begged, “Please. You have to take my back on this. I want her to like me.”

One hand went to her hip, the other went to the hank of hair that obscured her face, and secured it at her temple.

“She already likes you,” I reminded her.

“Okay, fine. I want her to continue to like me.”

“You know she doesn’t give a shit if you like the mushroom tea.”

“It’s dirt, Tucker. It tastes like turmeric-flavored dirt. It’s the grossest thing that has ever been on my tongue.”

Fuck, she was cute.

“How about I give you something else on your tongue to wash away the taste of turmeric-flavored dirt?”

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

“You gave me some of that last night.”

Yeah, I did.

The three weeks it had taken her back to heal had been torture. Three weeks knowing my woman was in pain because she’d used her body to shield mine while burning debris had landed on then singed her flesh had been worse than the pain of my injuries. It had taken three more weeks for my injuries to heal enough to move around without stabbing—no pun intended—pain. Another week after that to convince Liza my dick was not connected to my throat and it had not been injured the day Jake Sutton sank his blade and sliced my throat. Stupid fucker wasn’t even smart enough to kill me. Nor was he smart enough to know taking a major thoroughfare in the same vehicle you used to flee the scene of an attempted murder and arson would make it pretty damn easy for the Tennessee Highway Patrol to find you. Further from that, he proved he was stupider than the average stupid when his two pals turned on him in interrogation. Too stupid not to have associates who will sell you out, and too stupid to realize it’s never a good idea to brag about the murder you committed.

Jake Sutton was up shit’s creek—the ATF, DEA, FBI, and the state of Tennessee were all chomping at the bit with charges. They all wanted him. He was fucked. Mackenzie was doing her best to weasel out of criminal charges. Unfortunately, the footage from the neighbor showed Mackenzie leaving the house before Beatrice was murdered. Jake claims he killed her at Mackenzie’s demand. Mackenzie’s attorney claims that never happened.

He said, she said, with no proof on the ‘he said’ and no physical evidence tying Mackenzie to the drugs. It was likely she’d walk with her five-hundred-dollar an hour attorney working every slimy angle he could manage.

Liza shifted, the movement pulling me back to the present, reminding me the ban on sex had been lifted a week ago, and since then I’d put in a goodly amount of effort making up for lost time. But last night’s orgasm had worn off and I’d be negligent in my duties if I allowed my woman to go to work without a top-up.

I moved my hand resting on her hip down and around to cup her bare ass cheek.

“We’re gonna be late.”

I watched as Liza’s lips twitched.

“Swing your leg over.”

Like she’d done every time over the last week when I made a demand while in bed, she instantly complied. Before she settled on her knees astride me, I let go of her hair, allowing it to curtain around us. My hand went between her legs, and with a barely there graze over her clit, her hips jerked forward.

“Stay still for me, Lizzy.”

“You know I can’t.”

Yeah, I knew. The second I got my hands or mouth on her, her body reacted. It was hot as fuck and I loved she couldn’t keep still, but that didn’t mean I didn’t get off on ordering her to do so.